


A Year In The Life

by Vamillepudding



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 06:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20353720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vamillepudding/pseuds/Vamillepudding
Summary: Tommy owns a book shop. Tommy does not like books. It's just another of the great paradoxes that make up his life.





	A Year In The Life

**Author's Note:**

> T-Shirts mentioned in this fic partly inspired by WTMA's amazing fanart right [here](https://whentommymetalfie.tumblr.com/post/187121033057/modern-au-and-dumb-novelty-t-shirts-which-alfie) . Check it out !
> 
> Also (and this is an edit, because I only just remembered) - the "Thomas" who shows up in the fic is, you guessed it, Thomas Barrow from Downton Abbey, because of a terrible joke that fiveaces and I started several months ago.

**January **

Tommy owns a book shop. Tommy does not like books. It's just another of the great paradoxes that make up his life.

Alright, that's not fair. It's not like he set out to be a bookseller when he was in college and took a Business Studies Major. He'd expected to own a company someday, maybe, or give advice to one at least. Something where being an asshole by nature is not a setback, but a requirement.

And then his aunt had died. Not Polly - Polly is going to outlive them all. But both his grandmothers had had enough children to form a whole football team, and while Tommy hasn't even met most of them, his mother has told him enough stories for him to know the basics, like which name to assign to which face on photographs, who this ugly vase on the counter was a gift by and why they can’t throw it away, et cetera.

Auntie Anna, he met. Not a lot - just a couple of times, really, and he doesn't even remember it. But apparently, those few meetings were enough for her to leave her bookshop not to one of her other 32 grandschildren, but to him.

Tommy really wishes she had left it to someone else.

"I am astonished at this ungratefulness," his mother said when he called to complain, right after the reading of the will. "Truly astonished. Do you know what your brother got?" She meant Arthur, even though she didn't specify, Tommy knew. "A ten-pound note. You know what John got? A tube of hair product. You got a business."

"I wouldn't call this a business," Tommy said. His mother tutted, and hung up. And that had been that.

It's not that Tommy wants all authors to burn at the stake, or anything. He doesn't. He just wishes he wouldn't have to bother with them. His literature classes in Sixth Form still practically haunt him in his nightmares. He'd taken English Literature because it seemed like an easy grade, and had then almost failed the class. He wonders if his mother had told Auntie Anna that - if Auntie Anna had known leaving her bookshop to Tommy would be like giving wine to a man who doesn't drink, or if she'd hoped to convert him. Either way, he's stuck with it now, has been for over two years, and he's figured that the least he can do is make it a successful enterprise.

**Things Tommy has done to make Auntie Anna's bookshop a successful enterprise**

  1. Try to come up with a name that isn't Anna's Books.
  2. Host a poetry slam night once a month
  3. Invite local authors a few times times a year
  4. Redecorate the whole shop
  5. Redecorate the whole shop again
  6. Put the erotic novels in the window display
  7. Take the erotic novels out of the window display
  8. Try to come up with a name that isn't Anna's Books

Two years later, he thinks he rather has to face it: This shop is doomed to fail. Probably has been doomed to fail from the moment Auntie Anna bought it, to be honest. Sure, customers come in regularly, and sure, he can pay his bills, but he doesn't exactly make a profit.

"So what?" says Ada at dinner one night. The Shelbys have a dinner once a month upon the firm insistence of their mother, but he and Ada have a separated dinner every Thursday. When it's Ada's turn to cook, they usually eat pasta. When it's Tommy's turn, they usually order in. "Lots of people don't make a profit, Tommy. Just be glad you're not in debt! Have you thought about what situation others are in compared to you? I just can't believe you."

Ada has Principles. Those principles have a capital P and follow her around wherever she goes. Sometimes they host dinner parties or go to the cinema without her.

"Pass me that rice," commands Tommy. He loads his plate with fried rice and vegetables and only realises afterwards what's wrong. "Why is there no meat in this?"

Ada stares at him. "I've been a vegetarian for one year."

"No you haven't."

"Yes I have. Just because you haven't noticed-" Tommy is pretty sure that he saw Ada eat turkey on Christmas. Actually, he's pretty sure he saw her eat a ham sandwich just last week.

He decides to let the matter go for now and goes back to the important bit. "I have to sell it."

Ada actually flicks a bit of carrot at him. It misses, and lands on Tommy's expensive leather sofa. "You can't sell it. People like you are the reason why Amazon is so successful, you know?"

"Actually," Tommy admits, "Amazon is offering a job as a high-ranking-" He trails off when Ada looks at him like he's just killed somebody in front of her and then ate a few body parts just for the fun of it. "I guess I won't apply."

"Not if you want to keep talking to me, you won't." They both pause and eat a bit then. East Enders is playing in the background on Tommy's telly; he hates himself for being a little bit invested. Eventually, Ada says, with an uncertain note in her voice, "sell it if it makes you unhappy. Auntie Anna wouldn't have wanted to make your life miserable. I just think she'd have liked someone to continue her life's work."

"And I somehow seemed like the right choice for that, eh?" says Tommy sarcastically, even though he feels a bit guilty now. He's not _miserable_, exactly. It's just not what he envisioned his life to be, but that's not Auntie Anna's fault. And doesn't he owe it to her to at least give it a shot?

It's the beginning of January. He'll give it one more year. If it doesn't work out by then, he'll hope his aunt's spirit doesn't haunt him, and will go find a proper job.

When he tells Ada and gets an unexpected hug in return, he thinks that for this, at least, it's been worth it.

**February**

Half of February has already passed by the time that the man with the beard walks in. Tommy thinks about him as Man with Beard not because he doesn't usually have customers with beards, it's just that this one's facial hair is especially impressive. It is also just about the only flattering thing about him.

Okay, well. It's not the only flattering thing. It's just that all the other flattering things are immediately evened out by The Question. Tommy absolutely dreads The Question. If there was anything that might motivate him to turn to spontaneous murder, it would be a customer asking The Question, that's for sure.

Man with Beard goes up to the counter and says confidently, "I'm looking for a book. It's old."

Tommy hates him immediately.

Tommy says, "Can you tell me the author, perhaps? Or part of the title?"

Man with Beard says No.

Tommy asks, "Do you know what it's about?"

Man with Beard tells him cheerfully, "I think it's about a duck."

Tommy asks whether it's a children's book. Man with Beard shrugs as if the question is pointless.

Tommy finally snaps, "Do you know anything about this book at all?"

Man with Beard says, "The cover was red."

Tommy sighs. This happens sometimes; customers who know nothing about books except "it was on the third shelf in my father's office when I was a kid" or "I think I lost it on the train to Budapest thirty years ago". To this date, he has not been able to help a single one of these people, and they never fail to show their disappointment by sad headshakes, eyerolls or flat-out anger outbursts. One woman has started crying.

Bracing himself for the worst, he says, "I'm sorry, sir, I don't think I can help you with your search."

Man with Beard nods like he has just gotten very grave news, but also like he didn't really expect anything, anyway, and Tommy has just confirmed that.

"It's alright, mate. Knew it was a bit of a long shot, didn't I? Well, too fucking bad. I suppose I'll try again on Amazon then."

Tommy flinches. He's not going to repeat this particular bit of the story to Ada when he complains about The Question.

Man with Beard nods again and starts to leave. Tommy has a desperate internal debate in the span of three seconds. It's only when Man with Beard has opened the door that he calls out, "Wait!"

Shit.

**March**

A takeaway cup of coffee finds his way on Tommy’s register most mornings. Man with Beard, who has become Alfie, has asked him how he drank it, once, and Tommy had replied “black” without thinking. So now he drinks a lot of black coffee, even though the taste kind of makes him a bit nauseous. On some level he’s aware he could just say the truth, but then he would have to explain why he lied, would have had to put words to the fact that sometimes, his mind is a bit messed up like that. It’s easier to just drink it black. 

Tommy knows the coffee serves as a bit of blackmail on Alfie’s part: He supplies Tommy with caffeine, and Tommy in return supplies him with endless conversations about what he’s come to think of as The Book.

Alfie remembers random details, most of them bringing a whole story in their wake. Tommy has a folder in which he notes down all the relevant bits, and just lets the rest of it wash over him. It’s oddly relaxing, listening to Alfie.

Lots of mornings go like this: Tommy doesn’t notice Alfie has entered the shop until he spots the stray cup on his register. He can’t see Alfie in the main room, which means he must have ventured of into one of the smaller ones, where Auntie Anna had put the special collections. Tommy takes a sip of coffee, grimaces, then takes another. By the time Alfie comes back to the front desk, the cup is half-empty. Alfie says, “you busy, mate?”

Tommy is never really busy, but sometimes he pretends like he is, and Alfie lets him. He might say something like, “I just need to get something from the back of the shop for a minute” and leave. He’ll go into the small storage unit, and wait a few minutes before coming back out. He doesn’t know exactly why he does this, but it’s become a habit.

When he returns, he’s always a little bit worried that Alfie has left. Part of him tells himself that it doesn’t matter – why does he care if Alfie never enters the shop again? It’s not like he ever buys anything, anyway. Still, just as there is this tiny bit of worry that he can’t help, there is always the tiny bit of relief to go with it, the relief that overcomes him when he returns and sees that Alfie is still there, patiently waiting for the completion of Tommy’s imaginary errant.

With nothing more in the way to stand between them, Alfie will get on with why he’s really here. Perhaps he will say something like, “I had the strangest fucking dream tonight.”

Tommy plays along. “What kind of strange dream?” 

“I think I was a dragon, just flying over the lands, watching the people under me, and then there was this weird cloud, though it may have been a duck, and that, Tommy, reminded me of something about my book.”

“What was it?”

“I am now at least seventy per cent sure that my copy had a water stain on it.” Alfie sounds proud, like this is useful information. Tommy puts the folder about The Book back in place, finishes his coffee which has gone cold by now, and says, “thank you”, even managing to keep a straight face.

Having done what he came here to do, which is ‘wasting Tommy’s time’, Alfie leaves. And he’s always back, if not the next day, then the day after that. It is perhaps the closest thing Tommy has got to a friendship right now – and isn’t that a depressing thought?

**April**

Arthur is getting married. He announces this at their family dinner. The reactions are vast: Their mother says, “It’s about time.”

Polly refills her wineglass, then just keeps the whole bottle by her side.

John claps Arthur on the back and shouts enthusiastically in his ear, “What fucking nonsense about tying yourself down is that I’m hearing, Arthur?”. (Tommy wonders how John managed to get drunk this quickly, seeing as they only arrived about half an hour ago).

Ada, whose last birthday present from Linda has been a framed picture of Jesus, says “great” in a tone of voice that fools no one but Arthur, who smiles at her sunnily.

Finn snaps a picture of the mess and types something on his phone. (Tommy checks his little brother’s Snapchat account out of habit, and finds the picture Finn had taken, captioned ‘I can’t wait to move out’.)

And Tommy – well. He’s not sure what to think.

They’ve all spent their childhood in a sort of _us against the world _mentality, back when there never seemed to be enough money, never enough food, never enough of anything. Things are better now, and they’ve all moved on with their lives, but he thinks none of them will ever forget the times that not even the next meal was a sure fact.

Now his big brother is engaged, and for the first time Tommy realises that there is no coming back from this. There is no coming back, period.

Arthur, who’s been watching him for some time throughout the chaos, says, “Tommy?”. Tommy thinks, _get your shit together_. He forces his face into a smile and says, “Congratulations. I’m really happy for you.” It’s the truth. Just not all of it.

**

“You are looking incredibly glum today, did you know?”

Alfie has wandered in about half an hour ago, delivered Tommy’s daily dose of caffeine, and since then has just browsed the shelves. So far, he has not picked up a single book. He must have gotten bored by this endeavour, since he has now found his way back to the front desk, where Tommy is trying to design a poster for the next poetry slam night.

“That’s just my face,” Tommy tells him, only half-joking.

“And such a lovely one it is. Pretty sure in the old days kings and queens alike would have given up their kingdoms for just a smile from you.”

Tommy isn’t usually one for blushing, but right now, he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. It’s not the compliment – he knows he’s attractive, has had people compliment his appearance before. His smile, though. His smile is not something people usually want to see. Smiling makes his face all awkward; it’s like he was born to glower.

To change the subject, he starts their usual game. “Alright, what’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of your book?”

Alfie looks delighted; Tommy normally just plays along, never initiates. “Russia, I think,” he says after a pause. “Me mum read it to me, yeah. Ancient bloody history now. Russia and Italy and France, all blurred and mashed up together in my head. Only thing I do remember is the languages, don’t I, even if my Rabbi tells me I should focus a bit less on those and a bit more on my Hebrew, which is non-existent, really. Well, I assume that he would tell me that, if I’d still be going to the Synagogue.” 

“You’re not religious?” Tommy asks. He’s given up on the poster design for now; it can wait until tomorrow. Or never. Maybe never. 

“Nah, not me, mate,” says Alfie. It’s not like Tommy is surprised – not really. Now that he thinks about it, he wouldn’t have pegged Alfie as the church-going type, anyway. “What about you? You strike me as an…” Alfie pauses then, and gives Tommy a considering once-over, before saying with confidence, “altar boy, maybe. Grown up now, of course, but still goes to mess every Sunday like a good little lad, listens to the priest and then goes home to his wife and kid. Am I right?” 

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Tommy tells him, caught between smug and vaguely ashamed – for what, he doesn’t even know. “Now get out, I’m closing up early.” 

“Skiving off work?” Alfie calls out as he’s already on his way out. “The world will be brought to its knees by your rebellion, I’m sure. What is it, then? Spring Sale, 50 % for the suits at Harrod’s?”

“Actually, I’ve got a Grindr date,” Tommy says as casually as he can. It’s worth it for the way Alfie falters, and almost walks into the door.

**

One day, Tommy woke up and found Grindr installed on his phone. The memory of last night had been a distant one, his conversation with Ada blurry in his mind. All he could remember had been shouting at his sister about needing to get laid. He doesn’t need to be a private detective to realise what’s going on. 

He calls Ada and says without preamble, “Did you install Grindr on my iPhone?” 

“For the love of God, Tom, just call it your cell phone. And no, I’ll have you know that I did not. You did. I took your profile picture though. You’re welcome.” 

Tommy immediately checks the picture in question. It’s a snapshot of his face, scowling into the camera. As far as photos of him go, this one isn’t half-bad. 

“But-“ he starts. 

“No, you know what? Maybe this is good for you. We’re all sick of hearing about Grace. It’s all Grace this, Grace that, Grace hung the moon and then smashed your heart to pieces. Now will you please get laid and stop bothering the rest of us with it?” 

Tommy starts another protest, only to realise that Ada has hung up on him. It’s possible that he deserves it, but it still takes another five months until he opens the app again. 

And that is how he got this date. 

Thomas had suggested meeting in a coffeeshop. Tommy, who doesn’t have strong feelings either way, agreed readily. So here they are now, the two of them, in a coffeeshop with cups of tea in front of them – Thomas because “coffee is like poison to your body, I can’t believe not everyone knows that” and Tommy because, as much as he hates to admit it, he kind of associates coffee with Alfie now. They both got herbal tea as a result and sat down on one of the squashy couches in the back of the café. Tommy takes a sip and waits for

Thomas to make the first step. He’s not usually this awkward, but then, he’s never tried out online-dating before. 

“So how are we gonna do this?” Thomas says bluntly. “I’ve got a place around the corner.” 

Tommy looks at Thomas, takes in the other man’s dark hair and self-assured face, then lets his gaze drop to his body, clearly defined under the casual wear. Finally, he looks at his phone to check the time and says, “And I’ve got 90 minutes before my next appointment. Think we can make this work?” 

“Sure,” says Thomas with a shrug and puts down his cup, still full. “Shall we just go now? This tea clearly wasn’t brewed properly, we ought to make a complaint to the manager, you can’t let these people get away with-“ 

“Alright,” Tommy interrupts loudly, already shrugging into his coat “After you.”  


**May**

It’s been 3 weeks. Tommy and Thomas still hook up every few days, if not because they especially like each other. But they are both attractive men who live close to each other, so really, it’s sensible. 

Then, one Saturday afternoon, Thomas comes into the bookshop. Tommy has never told him he works here – they don’t exactly exchange many pleasantries – but he does know that Thomas’ flat is close by, so probably this was bound to happen anyway. 

Thomas’ eyes are glued to the screen of his phone as he walks in, the jingling bells announcing his arrival. He says absently, “I’m looking for a book for my niece, she’s-“, and stops the moment he puts his phone away and realises who’s standing behind the register.

“Oh, it’s you,” he says unnecessarily. He doesn’t sound – well, he doesn’t sound much of anything, Tommy thinks, not thrilled, but not embarrassed or annoyed, either. Tommy can relate: He doesn’t really care, either. Maybe this will put an end to their little affair, maybe it won’t, and he’s fine with it both ways. 

“How can I help you?” 

“I need a book for my niece,” Thomas repeats, already recovered. “She’s five.” 

Those two sentences have already given Tommy more information about Thomas than the man himself has given him at any point in the past weeks. 

Tommy shows Thomas to the children’s section and is about to let him browse by himself when the door opens again, and Alfie comes in.

Tommy tenses; he doesn’t even know why. Alfie comes over, and hands him a lidded cup, and says, “My, if that ain’t the first time I’ve ever seen you actually being of any help whatsoever in this dingy little shop. Never thought I’d see the day that you talk to a customer instead of just staring at them with your evil fucking demon eyes, eh, Tommy?” 

Tommy doesn’t point out that actually, he talks to Alfie a lot, because that way madness lies. He also carefully doesn’t look at Thomas, who might have already moved on to inspecting which books might be suitable for his purposes, or who might still be standing there, coming to his own conclusions about Alfie. This, Tommy thinks, is why he’s never been great with people: The thought that while he can control most things about a conversation, he can’t control what people think about it afterwards, can’t control their judgements. 

He says, “Shall we go to the counter?”, mostly because he doesn’t want Thomas listening. Which is ridiculous; it’s not like his conversations with Alfie are a secret. 

Alfie scratches his beard as though it was a question and not a pointed suggestion, making little Mh’s and Ah’s, like he’s seriously considering it. Finally, he taps Thomas’ shoulder with the tip of his cane. Tommy feels like he should do something, except he has no idea what is happening right now, so where would he even begin? 

Thomas looks up from the book he’d not so subtly been pretending to read, his lip curling with thinly veiled distaste at the sight of Alfie’s cane still poking him. “Yes?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to introduce myself, didn’t I, mate” Alfie says, like this is normal human behaviour. Possibly he thinks that it is, although Tommy has slowly come to realise that Alfie usually knows exactly what he’s doing, even when it doesn’t seem like it. _Especially_ when it doesn’t seem like it. “Being such a polite man and all. Gentleman, I have been called in the past, and I have striven to live up to the title ever since. I have also been called Alfie, right at birth, actually, because me mum figured Alfred was just too _bourgeoisie_. Way to condemn a kid to working class, if you ask me, which my dear mum never did, so here we are, all three of us, eh? Alfie, and Tommy, and an as of yet unnamed stranger in our midst.” 

Thomas stares at Alfie for a couple seconds, which isn’t an unusual reaction. Eventually he says, “I’m Thomas.” 

Alfie’s face is alight with mirth. “Is that so? Thomas. Popular name, it seems. Very popular.” 

“Who is this guy?” Thomas demands, turning to Tommy. Tommy, taken aback by the question, cannot think of a single thing to say to that.

He settles on, “A customer.” Between them, Alfie nods solemnly. 

“Look,” Thomas says. He puts the book back on the shelf and steps out of Alfie’s reach, just a bit. “I don’t really have time for getting pulled into this weird – relationship drama thing that you two seem to have going. No offence, but the sex just isn’t, you know?” Tommy doesn’t know, so he just stares. Thomas awkwardly adds, “good enough to put up with this shit”, clearly believing that he’s being helpful. And then he repeats “you know?”, like he actually expects Tommy to _agree_. 

He leaves, then, without another word. Neither Tommy nor Alfie try to stop him, and soon they are alone in the shop. Tommy stands motionless for another few moments, until he’s recovered enough to get back to work. 

Alfie follows him, because that’s just how Alfie is, follows him right to the back of the shop where Tommy is meant to be sorting through the new deliveries. “Friend of yours, was that?” Alfie asks as he joins Tommy inside the small room. 

“Yes,” Tommy says, and then, “no”. 

“An air of mystery beholds a great attraction to a great deal of people. I see you have figured that out and are now using it to your advantage, and I must say, it is working. What’s this?” 

“Give that to me,” Tommy says, taking the box out of Alfie’s hands. By the time he’s put it back in its place, Alfie has picked up another. The clock on the wall says 5:04. Anna’s Books is technically open for another 56 minutes. 

Fuck this. 

“What are you doing tonight?” Tommy demands. Alfie blinks, a smile forming on his face. “Have a drink with me.” 

Still smiling, Alfie says, “Nah, I actually got plans tonight, mate. Some other time, eh?” 

On his way out, with Tommy staring at his broad back, Alfie calls out, “D’you know, I actually remembered something else? I think the author’s name starts with an A.”

**June**

For a few weeks, Alfie doesn’t show up. Which is fine. It’s not like Tommy depends on his visits or anything. He depends on _caffeine_, sure, but he can just get that from the coffeeshop next door. Up until early this year, he always used to. Besides, Alfie has sometimes been absent for several days before. 

Tommy tries not to think about the fact that he’s classified Alfie as a bit of a stray cat in his mind. He focuses on work instead. He hosts another poetry slam. When it’s Ada’s turn, Tommy abruptly remembers that phase he had in his teens when he used to go to the National Gallery, looking at portraits of the royal family, hoping to find some similarity that would mean he’s a) part royal and b) not actually related to the Shelbys. He’s over the royal thing; he’s not quite over the relation thing. 

Next to him, some guy with glasses and a beanie says, “Hey mate, do you know her?” 

“No,” Tommy says immediately. On stage, Ada has started rapping. 

“Awesome,” says glasses-guy. “I’mma ask for her number. Thanks, man.” 

Tommy stares at him and says, “I will personally gut you if you so much as think about my sister.” 

That occurrence just about sums up that particular Friday night, and all the poetry slams he’s hosted so far in general. 

Then one day in late June, Alfie saunters in and throws something at Tommy’s head. Tommy catches it and takes a closer look. 

It’s a t-shirt. 

The t-shirt says: I AM SMALL AND SENSITIVE BUT ALSO; FIGHT ME. There’s a picture of a cat on it. 

Tommy transfers his stare from the shirt to Alfie, who looks very pleased with himself. “You weren’t here,” he accuses. 

“Busy, wasn’t I?”

“I don’t like cats.” 

“Tough luck, mate, because a cat shirt is what you’re getting.” 

The next day, Tommy wears the shirt to work. 

**July**

Summer is always tough for business. Everyone is on vacation, and even the ones who stayed in Birmingham don’t particularly fancy hanging about in a dusty old bookshop. John has suggested installing an ice-cream machine; Tommy has suggested that John go drown himself in the sink. 

He and John are currently not talking. 

Speaking of family: Arthur’s wedding is getting closer. They’ve set the date for October, and these days, it’s all anyone can talk about. Tommy hoped to be excluded from the planning entirely on account of being just genuinely bad at it, but no such luck. The monthly family meetings have first into weekly ones, and now bi-weekly. The last time Tommy has seen his family this much was before he graduated school; he’s never appreciated moving out more than he does at the moment. 

In a way, the timing is perfect, because the lack of customers means he’s able to close the shop up early most evenings, which in turn enables him to participate in yet more planning sessions on which colours should be used. He desperately hopes that his other siblings will choose to go against the institution of marriage, if only so that he doesn’t have to hear about flower arrangements ever again. 

Then, in the very end of July, Arthur texts him to ask if he can come to the wedding cake tasting. Apparently Arthur got held up, and apparently Tommy is the only person suited to the job. At least, that’s what Arthur tells him. What Linda says when Tommy meets her in front of the shop is simply: “Oh, so John and Ada were too busy? Well, you’ll have to do.” 

Ignoring the fact that clearly his soon to be sister-in-law likes his siblings better than him, Tommy pushes open the door to the bakery. 

And finds himself face-to-face with Alfie in an apron. 

Linda enters behind him, saying, “We’re gonna have to hurry this up a bit, I don’t want to be late for church group” and Tommy should probably respond to that, he really should, except he can’t help but stare at Alfie, who looks just as shocked. 

Alfie regains his ability to speak first. “I’m not usually wrong about reading people, but I have to say that in absolutely no way whatsoever did I expect to see you here today, Thomas.” 

“You two know each other?” Linda asks. She sounds exasperated. “How lovely. Now maybe if you can finish your reunion moment in the next five seconds so we can actually try some of these cakes, that would be fab.” 

While Tommy is still getting over the fact that Linda just used the word _fab_, Alfie is already directing Linda to a table whilst explaining the different cakes to her. He illuminates each cake’s strengths and weaknesses, lets Linda try each one, and only sometimes do his eyes drift over to Tommy, who hasn’t moved from his spot by the door. 

It’s Linda who eventually says, “Tommy, try some of these. I need the opinion of someone who’s not pregnant and has actual, working taste buds.” 

“You’re what.” 

Linda says, “Oh, fuck.” 

Alfie opens his mouth and then closes it. 

Tommy says, “Does Arthur know?” 

Two days later, Ada texts to ask _how the fuck did you get out of the reception planning_

**August**

When Alfie comes to the store the next time, there’s something off about the way he holds himself, about the way he sets the coffee cup down on the counter. Tommy spends an agonising five minutes contemplating whether he should ask about it, when Alfie naturally brings the matter up himself, because that’s just how Alfie deals with things. They would drive each other insane if they were dating, which is definitely not something Tommy thinks about often. 

“Linda seems nice,” Alfie says. His voice sounds weird, like he’s got a cold. “Perfectly lovely woman. I just thought to myself yesterday, I thought, that Linda is perfectly lovely.” 

Tommy, who has never heard anyone but Arthur talk about Linda that way and who suddenly has a horrific vision of Alfie having fallen desperately in love with her, rushes to say, “She’s engaged.” 

“She is at that,” Alfie agrees. “And may I just offer my most sincere congratulations to the happy couple? I love weddings. Who doesn’t love weddings, isn’t that right? Who indeed.” 

“You’re a wedding cake baker,” Tommy points out after a small pause, because he feels like he should. “I would have thought loving weddings is part of the job description.” 

“Now, don’t go about assigning labels like that. I’m not just a wedding cake baker. Me, I bake all sorts of cakes. Would have preferred to make a living out of baking bread, but that’s life for you. Continuing the legacy of Marie Antoinette and all. So if you need, say, a birthday cake for your first child, I’m your go-to-man.” 

“My what?” 

“First child. Or is it not the first? You brummies sure start young.” 

In the way he so often does with Alfie, Tommy feels like the conversation has gotten away from him. “What are you talking about?” 

In a tone that quite clearly conveys Alfie thinks he is an idiot, Alfie replies, “The pregnancy of aforementioned lovely wife of yours. What other fucking thing would I be talking about?” 

“I don’t have a wife.” 

“Fiancé, wife, potato, potahto.” 

“I don’t have a fiancé.” 

“So is Linda just your fake-fiancé then? Should I tell my lads at the bakery to bake a fake cake, too, to match the theme? That would be more to your liking, would it?”

“Alfie,” Tommy says. “Linda is my brother’s fiancé. I-“ And at this, he mentally winces, “-just help out with the planning.” And then, for good measure, because at this point he’s got nothing to lose, he adds, “I’m single.”

Alfie blinks. 

The day after, Alfie walks in with another shirt for Tommy. This one is oversized and says: I AM SMALL BUT I AM DOING MY BEST 

Tommy hates it. 

He starts wearing it to sleep. 

**September**  
  
Alfie can go on about the lack of labels he likes in his life until he’s blue in the face; Tommy needs labels. He definitely needs labels for his relationships. For example: He would very much like to know if he’s dating someone. 

He knows that, by real-life standards, you can’t call what he and Alfie are doing “dating”. They meet a few times a week, sure, but they do it at Tommy’s place of work. Alfie has by now also met at least three of Tommy’s family members, but that was because of Alfie’s work, so it doesn’t count either. And sometimes, Alfie buys Tommy stupid t-shirts, but those are meant to be demeaning. 

But. They do meet a few times a week, and Alfie _has_ met several of Tommy’s family members, and he has also gifted Tommy things. On-paper, it looks like they’re at least friends. 

Not dating, though. Because that’s crazy. 

But because they are, probably, friends, and Tommy admittedly does not have a lot of those, and because he’s also deleted Grindr again, it only makes sense that he would ask Alfie to accompany him to Arthur’s wedding. 

Because they’re friends. And because Alfie already made the wedding cake, so he should at least get to eat some of it. But mostly because they’re friends, and friends are each other’s plus-ones basically all the time. 

“Are they though?” Ada asks when Tommy tells her of this plan at Thursday dinner. “Are they really?” 

“Yes,” Tommy says. “This is a good plan. It makes sense.” 

“Totally,” Ada says. “I cannot wait. No, really, I _cannot wait_. This will be amazing. Are you wearing matching suits?” 

“We’re not wearing matching suits.” Tommy pauses before admitting, “I haven’t asked yet.” 

So that’s his next mission: Asking Alfie to be his plus-one next month. 

Every day, Tommy plans to ask, but it’s never the right moment. There’s always something holding him back – right until the moment when he decides that they are no longer in middle school. 

Alfie is monologuing about something, maybe bread, who knows (Tommy sure doesn’t, since he was too busy working up his nerve), but it’s probably not important. Tommy interrupts with, “Do you have plans next weekend?”

Alfie appears mildly taken aback at the interruption. “I would say that depends entirely on what you are about to suggest, yeah?” 

“I need a date for the wedding.” 

“I see. Right. Very good. So, would you like me to recommend you an escort service? Because let me tell you, despite my outward appearance as a fun-loving bachelor, I have never-“

“Alfie.” 

Finally, Alfie smiles. “Date, you say? Well. Since you are asking so nicely, by which I mean of course that you just treated this like you’re off buying milk at fucking Tesco’s, I suppose I can now freely admit that my weekend is entirely up for your taking.” 

Just like that, Tommy has got a date. For his big brother’s wedding. A date with his very good friend Alfie. Who’s doing him a friendly favour. Out of friendliness. 

It only occurs to him later that even though Alfie comes to the bookshop as frequently as ever, they haven’t talked about the book in a while now. 

**October**

October approaches rapidly, and with it, so does the big day. Tommy can feel himself getting antsy. Yesterday, he snapped at a customer for hanging out in the YA-section too long without buying anything. Last week at the now-daily family meeting, he told his mother that he wishes he’d been given up for adoption as a kid. He also started smoking again. 

All in all, it feels very much like he’s 16 again, going through a (now regrettable) phase full of black eyeliner and locking himself in his room for days on end while turning up the music from I Hate Myself to full notch. It fits with the Hallowe’en theme in the store right now, for which Tommy put in the minimal effort by just putting up a few pumpkins and fake plastic skulls before giving up. 

And then, finally, the day is here, just like that. 

All things considered, it starts rather unspectacular. The sun is boldly peaking through the cloudy sky. Tommy thinks that on a day such as this, thunder and lightning should have been the very least occurrence. 

He meets Alfie in front of the church, where most of his family members are already gathered. Normally, the sight of Alfie in a suit would be enough to at least mildly distract Tommy, but today feels bigger than that. More momentous. 

John spots them before Tommy can even muster up a greeting, and comes over immediately, Finn dragging his feet behind him. 

“You made it! Mum’s over there somewhere, I think I saw her talking to some boring aunt. Ada and Polly texted, they’ll be late. Something about driving to the wrong church. You alright there, Tom?” 

“Fine,” Tommy says. He doesn’t feel fine. He feels faintly nauseous. Suddenly, Alfie’s slipped his arm through Tommy’s. When Tommy looks at him questioningly, Alfie says, “They’re going in.” He’s right: People are slowly shuffling inside the church. Tommy and Alfie follow them, arms still linked. 

Alfie stops just as they pass through the doors, looking up expectantly at the ceiling. All around them, people curse and move around the unexpected obstacle. 

“What are you doing?” Tommy asks. These days, it seems that’s the only question worth asking Alfie, anyway. 

“Just giving your God a chance to strike me dead. Wouldn’t want to interrupt the ceremony, so I figured we might as well get this out of the way.” 

Tommy surprises himself by laughing. He claps Alfie on the shoulder. “Come on. If you get struck down by lightning, I promise to throw myself in the way if I have to. Eh?” 

They go inside. They find a spot in the first row. 

The ceremony starts. 

And somehow, it’s as easy as that: Watching his big brother get married to the woman he loves. Feeling, halfway through the ceremony, Alfie’s hand on his own. 

In the end, there is no need for Tommy to protect Alfie from any godly wrath. Everything goes down flawlessly in an almost disappointing turn of events. Doesn’t feel much like a Shelby family event. 

The reception finds Tommy standing at the bar, nursing a drink, while Alfie befriends some of Tommy’s cousins’ kids. He thinks they are playing a game of some sort; more than once, Alfie points in Tommy’s direction, which never fails to make the kids laugh. Tommy downs his whiskey and asks for another one. 

“Make that two.” Arthur has joined. Tommy hasn’t spoken to him since that first moment after the ceremony, where he offered his congratulations and was wrapped in a tight embrace. 

“Thought you stopped drinking.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s my fucking wedding day. One drink.” 

“Alright.” 

They stand like that for a few seconds, drinks in hands, idly watching the crowd of family members and friends. It’s Arthur who breaks the silence. 

“Look. This doesn’t have to change anything.” 

“I know,” Tommy says, who doesn’t. It must come out as uncertain as he feels, because Arthur says, “Tom, we’re family. Simple as that. Family comes first.” 

“Linda is family now.” 

“Same as you. Alright?” 

Tommy nods, fearing his throat is clogged up too much to speak. Arthur nods like he understands. 

Clearly figuring that the serious part of this conversation is now over, Arthur adds, “I don’t like that Solomons bloke.”  
Tommy’s eyes stray back to Alfie, who now appears to be braiding some girl’s hair. He hands Arthur his empty glass. Then he marches over to Alfie and asks him to dance. 

**November  
**

Tommy’s phone has been buzzing for the better part of five minutes. Alfie raises a quizzical eyebrow at it. 

“Not getting that, are you?” 

Tommy makes a vague gesture in the phone’s direction. “It’s the WhatsApp family group chat. Arthur keeps sending honeymoon pictures. I cannot take another fucking photo of the same fucking sunrise, Alfie. I can’t.” 

“I for one certainly can’t imagine anything more horrifying than pictures of your brother on a cruise. Bound to give someone nightmares, that.” 

His phone buzzes once more. This time Alfie picks it up and reads the on-screen notifications. 

“Finn wants to know if he can move in with you. John sent you a picture of a cat taking a shit. Ada asks if she can borrow your James Bond DVD collection.” 

Hearing Alfie read it out loud like that makes Tommy wonder, not for the first time, whether other adult men hang out with their family as much as he does. Presumably the answer is No. 

He steals his phone back, texts Finn “no”, ignores his other siblings, and realises that it’s already past closing time. 

“Was there something you wanted? It’s half six, so.” Alfie doesn’t usually come to the bookshop this late, so Tommy is unsure what the protocol is here. 

“Actually,” Alfie says, looking shifty, “I came over to say that there was a mistake at the bakery earlier. We had to remake an entire cake, just like that, two giant cakes in one day. Waste of resources, that. But it happens. And the lads already took home most of the remains of afore-mentioned, now-neglected cake one, but I came over to tell you that I saved two pieces.”

“You-“ 

“So you could spend your evening in your flat, watching Drag Race until you’re blue in the face, and fall asleep at 9 pm like my dear grandfather would, if he were indeed still alive. Or, and I say this leaving the choice entirely up to you, _or_, if you want, we could go over to my place and eat cake.” 

“I need to close up,” Tommy says lamely. Weeks and months of non-labelling might have driven him slightly insane, utterly unable to tell now if Alfie is asking him on a date or just genuinely wants them to eat cake together, like friends do. “After, we can…eat cake.” 

Alfie gives a salute. “I shall wait for you with bated breath.” 

And wait he does, until Tommy locks the shop and steps out on the street, until they walk together hand in hand, until they arrive in Alfie’s flat and look at each other. 

Their eyes meet. Tommy licks his lips and says, “Your flat is less of a shithole than I thought.” 

That’s when Alfie stops waiting. They kiss, and move to the bedroom, and much later, they have cake. 

**December**

Christmas time in Anna’s Books. It’s the time of year Tommy makes the biggest profit, and also the time of year he most often wants to drown himself in the cut. 

Every year, he puts up half-hearted decorations in theme with the festivities. Sometimes he gets Christmas cards from loyal customers; those he puts up as well. As far as Christmas decorations go, it’s not great, but Tommy takes pride in the fact that neither his shop nor his flat go anywhere near the madness that is his family home. Arthur and his mum are the only family members who are really into Christmas, so each year, they force the whole family into a decoration spree that lasts at least a day. It’s become something of a tradition for Tommy and his brothers to go to a pub after it’s over. Sometimes Ada comes along; Finn usually sulks over not being allowed. Maybe next year they’ll take him. 

Alfie has started wearing Hanukkah-jumpers, a different one for each day. He still brings Tommy coffee, but now it’s cinnamon-flavoured and usually comes with a gingerbread men, of which Alfie seems to have an endless supply. 

They haven’t talked about the holidays yet. Tommy is hesitant about bringing up the subject: Christmas time, to him, means family time. He’d like to see Alfie; he’s not willing to prioritise Alfie-time over his family. And while that is definitely the case, he’s also certain that it’s too early yet to bring Alfie to the Shelby Christmas. If Alfie would even want to.

Come to think of it, Tommy knows really very little about Alfie’s family. Alfie mentions various family members basically all the time, but it’s never been more than throwaway lines. 

It's a confusing realisation to Tommy that he would like to know more. That’s only ever happened with Grace – whom Tommy thinks of less and less often these days. Another confusing realisation. 

Alfie comes in just as Tommy is about done with his small crisis, carrying a takeaway cup and a badly wrapped gift. The wrapping paper has reindeers on it. 

Alfie hands Tommy first the cup (Eggnog Latte) and then the gift, looking very smug indeed. This time, Tommy is prepared. He’s been prepared since August. 

He says, because he just can’t help it, “It’s not Christmas yet.” 

“Don’t be ungrateful, Thomas. Besides, this just seems like highly unusual behaviour. When I had my mouth around your cock yesterday, giving you the gift that is a blowjob by your boyfriend, did you go on about Christmas then? No, I don’t think you did. So how about you just be a good lad and take the gift.” 

Tommy does not point out that this conversation is highly inappropriate for his place of work because, honestly, they’re 16 days into December and he’s already sick of every single customer. If they get offended, they can leave. Also, he has bigger worries right now: Like the fact that Alfie just casually used the term boyfriend. He can panic over that later though. 

He ignores Alfie’s outstretched hand with the package in it, and instead reaches behind the counter to produce a package of its own. Alfie stares at it, already starting to grin. 

“This won’t become a thing, alright?” Tommy warns. 

“Of course it won’t,” Alfie agrees cheerfully. They exchange gifts. 

Tommy got a jumper this time, befitted for the cold season. It reads I’M NOT SHORT I’M JUST A TALL ELF. There’s also a snowman on it.

When he accidentally brushes its nose, the snowman starts singing Frosty The Snowman. Also, it’s carrot-nose starts blinking. Tommy thinks he has never hated anything so much in his life. 

He puts it on. 

Meanwhile, Alfie has unwrapped his own present. It is, naturally, a t-shirt. There’s a print on it in bold letters that says, YOU HAD ME AT GLUTEN FREE. Alfie’s face is pained as he, too, puts it on. Because it’s a t-shirt, he can’t just put it on over his regular clothes like Tommy did with the jumper. Other people might have used this opportunity to go find a bathroom. Alfie uses the opportunity to start stripping. 

It turns out that Alfie is incredibly good for business. 

They don’t spend the holidays together, in the end. Tommy spends Christmas with his family as always, and Alfie “keeps his options open” until the very last minute and then spontaneously boards a plane to Russia, to visit some random great aunt. That’s okay, though. They only started officially dating a month ago (but really it might be closer to a year). 

Sometimes breakups just happen, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. But Tommy starts feeling more and more confident that, no matter how the future might look, by the time the next holidays roll around, they will spend them with each other. 

**Epilogue: January**

On January 1st, Anna’s Books officially closes its doors. 

Tommy has not told anyone about this. He wasn’t sure until the moment he removed the sign from the door; he’s been sure for months. 

He's tried every measure he can think of, but in the end it just boils down to this: 

Tommy owns a bookshop. Tommy does not like books. For the last few years, it’s been one of those great paradoxes in his life. He has since come to realise that it doesn’t have to be. 

Over the past 3 years, he has tried every measure he could think of to turn this shop into a successful enterprise. Some have worked, some haven’t. But he thinks that if the most he has ever had fun with his job is the few minutes a day a Man with Beard came in to _distract_ him from said job, maybe it’s time to look for a new one. 

Aunt Anna might have liked someone to continue her life’s work, but Tommy thinks that he’s ready to start his own life now. He’s ready for that. 

They still haven’t found Alfie’s book. But they’ll keep looking. Maybe that’s enough. 

THE END


End file.
